The Newman Resident (28 page)

Newman had admitted to the first experiment: implanting a chip to enhance their ability to learn. There was a footnote observing that while no lasting harm had been done, three of the children had manifested residual twitching in their hands in stressful situations.

Richard skimmed a couple of pages, hoping to understand what Newman meant when he told him they’d come up with something better than the chip. He scrolled to the next page, titled “Nanorobotics.”

The document noted how Newman scientists and engineers had been working on using nanorobotics to enhance the residents’ potential for learning. There were several pictures of microscopic nanobots, designed to be injected into the brain and spread throughout it, building new synapses and strengthening existing ones. These nanobots were programmed to nurture the environment in the brain and develop the greatest potential for cognitive
development. The goal was to enhance the residents’ abilities to such an extent that there was almost no limit to how much or how quickly they could learn.

Richard closed his eyes. He pictured Tanya on the operating table, imagining what she’d gone through.

Newman had injected six of the seven “cub” residents with the nanobots, but none of the procedures was successful. Richard wondered what had happened to the other children, but couldn’t find anything that mentioned how they were doing after the injections. After Tanya, though, the scientists were convinced they’d solved the problem and advocated injecting the “lion cub” as soon as possible. If that phase of the experiment proved as successful as they expected, they could then inject all of the residents.

Richard said his brother’s name into the phone and it called him.

“So, this is what they meant about developing minds for the future,” Richard said. “I guess I’m glad he escaped. I’d hate for Christopher to be injected with that stuff.”

“I’m not so sure he escaped,” David said. “For all we know, they’re taking him to the injection lab as we speak.”

“We don’t know that.”

“But we can’t assume anything. Time’s not on our side.”

Richard looked back down at the documents on his phone. “Where’s the lab? Does it say where the lab is?”

“New Jersey. That’s all it says. No city or hospital or anything was named in the report.”

“So now we have to send search groups to New Jersey?” Richard said.

“I don’t know, but I don’t think they’d let their lion cub run away. He’s either still at the school, or somehow they’re getting him to New Jersey.”

Richard looked out over Fifth Avenue, watching the cars pass by. A juggler stood a few feet from the statue of the watchful lion off to the right, and a small group had gathered around.

“Are we going to find him, David?”

“We’ve got hundreds of people searching every square inch of Manhattan. People are praying from here to Vermont. There’s too much positive energy being sent out for something good not to happen.”

“I’d almost forgotten about you and your positive energy.”

“Hey, it works. There’s a whole spiritual—”

“David, I see it!” Richard stood up, staring at Fifth Avenue.

“Well, it’s about time. I was always trying to explain it to you when we were kids.”

“There it is!”

“What?”

“The van. The blue Shapiro’s van from the other day. The kidnapping.”

CHAPTER
SIXTY-FIVE

R
ichard ran down the steps, keeping his eye on the truck. “It’s heading south on Fifth Avenue,” he told his brother. “I’m going to get a cab. Tell Harold to get the nearest search teams down here.”

“Will do. Stay with it.”

Richard hailed a cab and climbed in.

“Follow that dark blue van up ahead. The one that says ‘Shapiro’s Coat Outlet’ on it.”

“What?” the driver asked as he pulled into traffic.

“Van. Blue. Follow it. Go behind.”

“I understand English perfectly. I’m just saying this isn’t the movies, you know.”

“I’ll pay you double.”

“Money isn’t the issue.”

“Look, I think that van has my son in it. He’s been kidnapped.”

The driver studied Richard’s face in the rear view mirror. A determined look came over the driver’s face. “Now that is a different story.” He sped up within three cars of the van as they approached the Empire State Building.

Richard’s phone rang. Harold told him he’d instructed all the nearest search teams to get into cabs and head for Fifth Avenue.
He also sent the team members who’d been patrolling in their private cars to the area.

“The police commissioner got here a few minutes ago, he’s been trying to get us to shut down our operation,” Harold said. “He changed his tune a little, though, when we told him about the blue van.”

“Look, Carson,” the commissioner said over the phone, “don’t do anything stupid. I can’t devote the whole force to your hunch, but I’m sending a couple of patrol cars to the area. Let them handle it.”

“No thanks,” Richard said. “Newman has friends in high places, remember? And they know your phone number.”

“Leaving the school alone is one thing. Kidnapping is another. Just be sure—”

Richard hung up, concentrating on the van ahead. He searched the street for any sign of team members, but all the cabs and cars looked alike. There were no police cars in sight, and he had no idea how he was supposed to know when help had arrived.

The phone rang again. It was Harold.

“I don’t want to talk to his highness again,” Richard said.

“You won’t have to. Are you sure it’s the right van?”

“Positive.”

“You know, it could’ve been stolen. Maybe those are the real employees driving it. Or maybe there’s a whole fleet of Shapiro vans.”

“My gut tells me it’s right.”

“Pull up alongside it. See if it’s the same guys.”

Richard asked the driver to get closer beside the van. They were in the same lane, with four cars between them, so the driver changed lanes and tried to move up. He had to change lanes two more times, but he finally got beside the van just as Broadway
intersected near Madison Square Park. Richard looked closely at the man driving the van. He was thin and stringy; his head almost touched the ceiling, his long, dark hair pulled back in a pony tail. Richard had never seen the man before.

“Can you see them?” Harold asked.

“Yeah. It’s a different guy.”

“Oh.”

The cab started to drop back, but Richard told the cabdriver to stay beside the van for a little longer. The van driver looked at the cab a couple of times, and seemed to get bothered when he noticed how Richard was looking in.

“You’re not exactly James Bond, you know,” the cabdriver said.

“I want him to see me. If this van’s the right one, something will happen.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Something. That guy looks like he’s getting nervous.”

Harold asked what was going on, but Richard told him to sit tight. Richard could hear the commissioner shouting in the background, but he tried not to listen. He looked behind him and noticed there seemed to be more cabs crowded together than usual. He asked the cabdriver to check in with the dispatcher and find out if anything was going on with the other cabs.

“Something’s weird here,” the dispatcher said over the speaker. “About ten of them near you said something about following a blue van.” Richard and the cabdriver smiled at each other.

At the red light, the cabdriver was careful to see if the van would stop or go through. It stopped, and the cab stopped next to it. The van driver looked into the cab again, then knocked on the wall behind him. A small door opened, and the driver spoke to
someone. Another man with deep-set eyes stepped into view and looked directly into the cab.

“That’s him!” Richard shouted into the phone. “That guy who tried to kidnap Christopher!”

The man recognized Richard and shouted to the van’s driver. Richard opened his door to get out, but the light changed and the van sped ahead.

“We can’t lose them,” Richard said.

“We won’t.”

“Where could they be going?”

“I don’t know,” the cabdriver answered. “We can’t let them get near any of the tunnels or bridges, though. We could lose them.”

“Carson,” the commissioner said over the phone, “don’t hang up.”

“What do you want?”

“Look, I’ve got more squad cars coming. Back off and let us take care of it. This is my job.”

“And this is my son.” Richard hung up again.

“Listen,” he said to the cabdriver, “can you have the dispatcher tell the other cabs to get on both sides of it? We want to keep the van on Fifth, not let it turn off.”

The driver gave instructions to the dispatcher. After a few minutes, the street became heavy with cabs. The men in the van seemed to realize there was a problem because they kept looking all around them, trying to change lanes, but none of the cab drivers let them. The van sped up, but the cabs did as well. A squad car pulled onto Fifth from 13th Street, and another from 10th, but neither could get near the van because of all the cabs.

Richard looked into the cabs nearest him. He didn’t recognize any of the passengers, but he could tell they were from the search
teams. Determined. Focused on the van. Even the cab drivers appeared different, like hunters surrounding trapped prey.

Fifth Avenue ended at Washington Square Park in Greenwich Village, and the Park was just a block or two ahead. The men in the van were arguing now. The dark-eyed man was now holding a knife, still yelling at the driver, but not pointing the knife at him. The driver looked straight ahead, and the other man turned back to the small door that led to the back of the van.

“Ram him!” Richard shouted to the cabdriver.

“What?”

“He’s got a knife, and he’s going back into the van. Don’t let him go back there!”

“Man, this
is
like the movies!” the cabdriver said and he turned left sharply, ramming the van. The van driver turned, shocked, like his feelings had been hurt, and the other man fell down to the floor. The cab in front slowed down, keeping the van pinned among all the cabs. The man tried pulling himself up again, his hand bleeding, but the cabdriver rammed into the van once more, this time without being asked. The man fell back down. The van sped up, hitting the rear of the cab in front.

Finally, the van driver seemed to realize where he was headed, straight for Washington Square, and tried to turn to the right, slamming into the cab. The van slammed on the brakes and the driver jumped out, trying to make a run for it, not even looking back at his partner lying on the van floor. He didn’t get ten feet, though, before he realized it was hopeless. There wasn’t a car in the area—just cabs. The street running alongside the park was full of people—search team members, police, curious bystanders—blocking any chance for escape. Two officers ran up and ordered him to spread his arms and legs while they searched him.

The dark-eyed man stood up in the van. He held his bleeding hand, avoiding the eyes of the dozens of cab drivers and passengers who had gotten out of the cabs and stood in a circle around the van.

Five officers ran up to the van to make their arrest, and Richard and his cabdriver were already pulling on the handles to the van’s back door. When they got it open, they found at least ten large laundry bags tied at the top. Richard climbed into the van, picking up each bag and tossing it aside when he realized it was just full of clothes. After about six bags, he came to one he couldn’t pick up so easily. He tore at the cord, pulling it apart and opening the bag. Inside was Christopher, weak and exhausted, barely conscious.

“Daddy?”

Richard held his son’s face. “Yes,” he answered. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?” He rubbed his fingers through Christopher’s hair.

Christopher’s eyes opened more, and he seemed to recognize his father. “Daddy!” he said louder, holding out his arms and hugging Richard.

“Thank God you’re all right,” Richard said.

They hugged each other tighter.

“Do you want me?”

“I always wanted you, Christopher. I never sent you back to that place. I would never do that.”

As a police officer and two paramedics climbed into the van, father and son held onto each other, rocking back and forth.

CHAPTER
SIXTY-SIX

“D
addy, I want to go home.”

Christopher was holding his father’s hand as they sat, exhausted, on a couch in the police station.

“So do I, Christopher, but we have to wait for the officer to come back,” Richard said. “The police commissioner said they wouldn’t keep us much longer. We have to help the police as much as we can.”

The police were treating him differently this time, probably feeling a good deal of pressure from every newspaper and television and radio station in New York to find out why a school was allowed to medically experiment with children.

“How are you two holding up?”

Richard looked up to see Joseph holding a large bag and smiling. The two embraced.

“So this is the famous Christopher,” Joseph said as he knelt down beside the boy. “You’ve helped a lot of children, son, probably without even knowing it.”

Christopher looked up at Richard and smiled.

“Here, I’ve got something for you,” Joseph said. He reached into the Macy’s bag and pulled out Christopher’s Winnie the Pooh bear.

“My bear!” Christopher grabbed it and hugged it. “I wondered if I’d ever see you again, Pooh!”

Joseph sat down with Richard and explained what he’d found out from the commissioner. The two men in the Shapiro’s van were going to take Christopher to a doctor named Boswell who worked for Newman in New Jersey. That doctor was going to inject the nanobots into Christopher. Warrants were being issued for the arrests of the superintendent, Dr. Newman, Hunter, Boswell, and other key individuals for a number of charges, including attempted kidnapping, kidnapping, and the homicides of the six other children who were part of the “Seven Cubs.”

“They’d taken Samuel to that doctor in New Jersey for the injection,” Joseph said, “but something went wrong once the nanobots entered his brain.” He paused. “He died within hours. Dr. Newman made it look like he ran away and had the body put by the Hudson after a few days.”